And the earth was reaped
by Mikiya2200
Summary: Post-apocalypse, takes place at the end of season 2 so there's no angels, just the boys trying to survive in a world that's suddenly swarming with demons. PLEASE read the A/N. Rated T for language. Thanks, Dean...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay, so this is a classic version of the case "the a/n is bigger than the first chapter" but there's some stuff I need to say about this before I post it, so please bear with me.

First of all, I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to post this at this site at all, ff(dot)net has been messing with my formatting for a while now and that really p***** me off and doesn't really encourage me to post my stuff here. I know I'm not the only one with this problem, but... well, it's just really annoying if you spend hours formatting your stories and then this stupid site ruins everything within a second.

This is my attempt at an apocalypse story, this is basically the first chapter of this verse. It is almost complete, right now I'm working on the last part. It takes place after "AHBL 2", though I've made some changes: Sam **did not** die, he is no more a special child than any other psychic YE "made", Dean **did not **make the deal, Sam did not shoot Jake and they were not able to close the devil's gate. Everything else is as you know it, YE is dead (Dean still shot him), the demons got out (or are still getting out) and there are psychic kids who are hunted by demons for some bigger plan. Everything else will be told in the story.

This story/verse is based on one of my other stories, _"Too little, too late_". I'm not sure if you have to read it for this first part to understand everything, but it does give you some details about how Sam handles his powers. In this verse Sam is an empath (meaning he can "read" feelings and, to some degree, project his own emotions onto other people) and he still has his telecinetic powers, though he is still learning how to use them.

With this story I've done something I've always wanted to do ever since the day Castiel brought up the "Winchester gospels": I wrote them, the gospels, bible style. I had a lot of fun doing it (seriously, the English gives me the chills but it's just sooo much fun, believe me! ;) ), but I'm not really sure if I'm offending anyone with this. Though, on the other hand I've seen thousand of stories in which angels have intercourse with certain Winchester brothers and nobody seemed offended by that so... well, if you like it, good, if don't: don't read it. The gospels are meant as a overview of how my universe works, there are some clues in them that might give you a better picture of the verse.

What's left to say... I have one person to thank for this, my** Ghosty **who pretty much held my hand during the months I was working on it. She did the beta, talked me out of quitting the story about a hundred times and basically just _made_ me write it by encouraging me all the way. Thanks hun, I really love you for this! (hugs) You're the bestest friend I've ever found online! BAZINGA!

This story was written as a birthday present for my best friend **kochan**, without her I would never have written it at all. Love you, hun, really, really do! (hugs)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural. I do not own Dean (thank God!), I do not own the Impala, I do not own Bobby. What? I forgot something? Some_one_? Oh well, I do not own Lucifer. Happy now? :P

On with the story now! BAZINGA!

* * *

THE WINCHESTER GOSPELS  
IN THE BEGINNING: 1,1 – 1,13

**The Fall of the Morningstar**: 1,1—1,13

1 So he drove out the man; 2 and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.

3 And the LORD God looked to the man and said unto him, I will make of thee a great nation, and I will bless thee, and make thy name great.

4 And the LORD God looked to his angels and said unto them, Bow down before the man and love him more than you loveth me. 5 And the angels looked to the man and bowed before him and loved him more than they loved the LORD God.

6 Now the Morningstar loved the LORD God above all else, more than any angel loved him, and he did not bow down before the man and he did not love him more than he loved the LORD God.

7 And the LORD God called unto the Morningstar, and said unto him, Why doest thou not bow down before the man and love him more than you loveth me as I commanded thee?

8 And he said, I shall not bow down before the man and love him more than I love thee as he is flawed and murderous.

9 And the LORD God said unto the Morningstar, Because thou hast not done as I commanded thee thou shalt fall from my grace.

10 Therefore the LORD God sent him forth from his side and commanded Michael to cast him into the bottomless pit.

11 And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the Morningstar; and the Morningstar fought and his angels. 12 And prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven.

13 And so the angel went forth and did as the LORD God commanded him and cast the Morningstar into the bottomless pit and his angels were cast out with him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean."

Bobby's hushed voice penetrates the fog clouding his brain. He doesn't want to wake up, not now. He is too tired.

"Dean, wake up."

Bobby again.

It takes too long to force his eyes open and when they finally do all he can see is black. There is something covering the upper part of his face. It smells familiar (_leather, oil_) and he realizes it's his jacket. Right, the friggin' light wouldn't let him sleep.

"They caught him."

Who?

Bobby wouldn't wake him for anybody and there's only one of them left still out there—

No.

"Dean, they got Sam, wake up."

Nononono.

Heart hammering in his chest he sits up before Bobby can shake his good shoulder again. His weary body protests against the sharp movements, but he doesn't care, doesn't notice how reality gets fuzzy around the edges. Bobby is staring at him worriedly. The room's single light bulb makes him look pale, the torn baseball cap casting a deep shadow over his eyes. For a moment they look almost black and Dean wants to recoil—_demons, they're here, inside him, RUN_—but then it's Bobby again, still looking upset.

"You okay?" Bobby's whispered words remind him of the others inside the room and he makes an effort to move as silently as possible. He doesn't want to wake the kids, they need the rest.

And then Bobby's earlier words come back and he forgets about everything else.

Sam, they caught _Sam_.

"Which gate?"

Dean's voice doesn't quite want to cooperate. He gasps when he moves the wrong way and his shoulder explodes in agony. _Fuck_. He tries to breathe through the pain while simultaneously getting up from his cot. It sucks to find out he isn't strong enough to do both. The world takes a lazy turn to the left and he is falling. A hand grabs hold of his left arm—the good one—and keeps him steady.

"Easy, son."

He barely waits until the air is back in his lungs before he rasps out again, "Where are they bringing him, Bobby?"

"The Northern Gate."

Fuck. And again, _fuck_.

"Fuck. How long?" He fights for his balance, gets his feet under him and makes it off the cot, swaying slightly. He blinks up at the older hunter through squinted eyes, feels his stomach drop all the way down to his boots when Bobby shakes his head slightly.

"Thirty minutes, maybe less."

Fuck it. They won't make it; it takes at least 40 minutes to get to the Northern Gate from where they are, no way they gonna get there in time. Bobby doesn't meet his eyes but there's worry written all over his face. He almost chokes on the helplessness that wells up inside him before he can stop it. No, he won't have that, failure is not an option, not this time. He's going to get his brother back.

He moves toward the hole in the wall they generously call 'the door' with determination, careful not to stumble over the many sleeping-bags. Bobby is right behind him, following silently.

They are almost out when he catches movement out of the corner of his eyes. Yannick—Yanni for his friends—is watching him worriedly, hair sticking up in all directions. He is fighting off a yawn but his eyes are wide awake, scanning the room with a familiar intensity. Although his hair is the brightest blond Dean has ever seen, the way the unruly strands stick out in all possible directions painfully reminds him of his brother. He doesn't fight the smile that starts at the corners of his mouth. He takes a second to mouth '_it's okay, get back to sleep_' and follows that with what he hopes is the correct sign for 'sleep'. He knows the teen won't buy it and he is right; Yanni gives him a _yeah, right_ look, but lies back down obediently. His hands move swiftly in a familiar pattern he can read easily.

[Careful.]

Dean nods at him and he and Bobby are out of the door.

They don't talk on the way to the car, keeping the noise to a minimum. Dean is waiting for his brain to get back online, cursing at the painkillers he took earlier. He feels weird, detached from reality, not really there. The night's chilly air rouses him a little and helps with the headache, but it's only when he can finally sink down on the passenger's seat of Bobby's truck and lean back for a moment that he is able to catch his breath.

Sniffing sounds from behind make him turn his head and he looks at the two Rottweilers watching him from the back of the truck. A sigh escapes his lips and he groans; Bobby's expecting trouble then. The next moment the driver's door is opened and the older man slides in next to him, already starting the car before the door has closed behind him.

"Bobby…" He starts, knows what he wants to ask but for some reason the words won't come.

"I don't know." Bobby's voice sounds grim, worried. He nods at the glove compartment and Dean fumbles for a moment before he pulls Bobby's spare gun out. He knows it's pretty useless since he is a lousy shot with his left hand, but still its familiar weight comforts him. He leans back and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"We gonna make it in time?"

They both know the answer and they both know that the other knows. Bobby's only reaction is to put his foot on the gas.

_Hold on, Sammy, please, just hold on_.


	3. Chapter 3

THE WINCHESTER GOSPELS  
LUCIFER RISING: 1,1 –1,9

**The Call of Lucifer:** 1,1—1,9

1 And Lucifer, the star of the morning, fell from heaven and into the bottomless pit. 2 And the angels that fell with him walked the earth and were his minions. 3 And henceforth the angels no longer called them their brethren but demons.

4 And Lucifer cast out his demons across the earth to deceive the nations and kill and corrupt in his name. 5 For he could not leave the bottomless pit and lay bound within.

6 And his demons walked the earth and deceived the nations and killed and corrupted in his name.

7 And Lucifer called unto his demons and said unto them, Fear not my brothers for I will walk the earth. 8 Go forth, and find ye the path to my freedom and do not despair for I am with thee.

9 And the demons went forth to find the place where Lucifer was cast into the pit.


	4. Chapter 4

They are already there, the trucks, the slave traders (_vultures_), the fugitives (_fresh blood_). There are people everywhere, huddled together at the back of the big trucks, men, women, children, all of them cuffed to the vehicles or to each other. They blink tiredly in the bright light of the floodlights, most of them too out of it, too exhausted to realize what is happening. Dean knows they've most likely spent the last three or four days without food or water on the trucks. He knows 'cause he's been there too, only two month ago. If Bobby hadn't found him when he did…

He pushes that thought away, this is not the time, Sam needs him.

Sam might be one of them, his brother might be out there, only a few feet down the street. It's both the worst and best feeling he's had for a long, fucking too long time. He wants to have him back at his side, now. The two month without Sam were like hell, the not-knowing, the ever present fear. Never-ending questions (_Is he still alive?_), doubts (_shouldn't have done it_), worst case scenarios (_his brother, bloody and beaten—dead, left behind like road kill_), nightmares (_chased by faceless demons_)… He's been through all of that. Every fucking night, every minute of the days when his mind isn't too occupied with surviving the mess they are all in.

He knows now it was a mistake to separate, he would never do it again. Ever. Sam will probably be mad at him. Who is he kidding, Sam is going to rip him a new one for the stunt he pulled, but it had seemed like the best thing to do back then. Now he knows it wasn't, now he knows Sam was right, they should have stayed together. And this time they will, so help him God, this time he won't let him go.

If they find him in time.

He scans the crowd anxiously, looking out for the familiar mop of dark hair.

Bobby opens his door and gets out of the car. "Stay here, I'll find him." His voice is low and Dean has to fight down his instincts to remain in the car and not follow him. He knows it's safer this way, he knows that one of the guards could recognize him and then his throbbing shoulder would be the last of his problems. And still he can barely sit still, his leg starts twitching in distress as soon as the older hunter closes the door behind him.

He is forced to watch as Bobby, now flanked by the two huge dogs, slowly wanders toward one of the trucks, heading for what Dean can easily make out to be the driver. The two men start to talk, but Dean quickly looses interest. His worried gaze once again sweeps over the crowd. He feels helpless and that makes him feel even worse because he is, he is helpless. They all are. No more Devil's Traps, no more exorcisms, holy water, nothing works.

He doesn't see his brother's face, there is some black bag covering his head, but it's Sam; the long body that topples off one of the trucks and lands on the floor is so familiar to him that he has already opened his door before he remembers that he can't get out there. Closing the door is one of the hardest things he has ever done, especially when he sees how the crumpled form of his brother barely moves from where he has fallen. Sam's hands are tied behind his back and the way he slowly curls around his middle, guarding his upper torso, tells him that Sam is hurt in some way. His pain in the ass, pigheaded little brother doesn't show any weakness unless he is hurt so badly that he no longer cares about appearances. Dean's fist clenches at his side. He doesn't realize he is cursing viciously under his breath, angry words that get lost in the darkness around him. His eyes briefly dart back to Bobby, but the older man is still talking to the driver, hasn't seen Sam yet.

It's torture, pure and simple—his own private hell. Being so close to his brother, having to watch how Sam slowly raises his covered head and tries to take in his surroundings despite the cloth. A guard walks by him and Sam shies away, shrinks into himself as if he has been hit. Dean knows how much his brother hates demons close to him, how he can't stand to feel their joy at inflicting pain and fear and worse on their victims. His stomach churns as Sam's voice replays in his head. _Evil, I can _taste_ how evil they are, Dean, it makes me sick. _

Sam's head turns slightly to the side, as if he is listening to something. He doesn't even try to get to his feet. Dean's stomach clenches painfully; he is feeling sick now and it only gets worse when a group of three guards walks over to Sam. _Stop, don't touch him!_ His mind is screaming, throwing insults and threats at them. Maybe he even barks them out loud.

They don't stop.

Sam—ever the fighter—tries to resist, lashing out uncoordinatedly. But he doesn't stand a chance, a vicious kick to his unprotected side easily subdues him. Two men drag him to his feet and the moment he is upright his head falls back and he sags heavily between them. Hands gripping the passenger's door in a death grip Dean is forced to watch how they drag him to where Bobby and the driver are still talking.

Dean tears his gaze away from his brother and glances at Bobby. The older man is staring intently at Sam, seems to have recognized him. He says something to one of the guard and the man reaches up and removes the bag. Dean gets a first look at his brother and feels something in his chest unclench. It's really him, it's Sam, he is alive. He's too far away to make out any details, but Dean feels as if he can breathe freely for the first time since he let himself get caught. Never again, he vows silently to himself. Never, ever again, people can call them 'joined at the hip' or 'conjoined twins' for all he cares, they are never going separate ways again.

One of the men moves and Sam's head wobbles unsteadily before it falls forward, hanging limply on his neck as he hangs between the guards. Dean starts and his hands go for the door again. Bobby says something to the driver and both of them nod, then he gestures at the men holding Sam, points at his truck. Dean sinks further into his seat, watching with bated breath as they haul Sam over toward him. He lets his body go slack and pretends to be asleep, head turned away from the window. He watches through squinted eyes as they pass the truck and the vehicle starts rocking slightly. Something heavy is dumped into the bed of the truck. Dean stays where he is, doesn't move or give any indication that he is awake. Finally the steps move away from the truck and everything goes silent.

He waits for a moment, and then turns in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse at the back of the truck.

"Sam?"

There is a slight movement, something scraping across the plastic tarp on the back, a faint groan.

"Sammy!"

More rustling.

"Dean?"

It's a breathless gasp for air that carries his name, but it's the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. It takes everything Dean has to stay in the car and not crawl through the shattered rear window. He doesn't know who might be watching them and he really doesn't want to risk everything. He settles for turning in his seat and craning his neck to peer through the window.

"You okay?"

He can see most of Sam's body, including his head, gets a glimpse of pale skin and dark bruises around his brother's throat, on his jaw, beneath his left eye. Sam's eyes are closed and his brows drawn together in a pained frown but there is a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, even if it is a faint one.

"Just peachy…" he groans out, stealing one of Dean's favorite lines.

Dean can't stop staring. Even though Sam can't see it, he returns the smile, silently thanking a God he doesn't believe in for this moment. He's overwhelmed, doesn't know what to say, to think. He's spent so many nights picturing this, has thought up so many things he wants to say, to apologize, to tell his brother what a fucking idiot he has been for doing this, that he has never been so wrong about something and god, how can Sam ever forgive him— and… _what the hell?_

Sam is looking at him, watching him through squinting, glazed eyes. He knows that look, he fucking knows what his brother is doing and please just kill him now.

"I know." Sam's voice is soft, rough around the edges and it sounds as if he has to concentrate on getting the words out.

The little shit is reading him. His relief (_guilt_) is instantly replaced with an-oh-so familiar sense of shame, only to jump right back to worry when he realizes what kind of risk Sam is taking. Using his powers with so many demons around—

"Sam, stop it."

Tired eyes slide closed and Sam gives a weak nod. "Had to make sure 't's you…" Despite his obvious exhaustion the smile never leaves his lips.

He wants to stay mad at him, needs to make Sam realize how dangerous stunts like this are right now but, for the life of him he can't, he just can't.

This is so screwed.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes has his head snap up and his hand goes for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans before he can stop himself.

Bobby and the dogs are walking toward the car. The older hunter doesn't stop at the driver's door but goes to the back of the truck. He grumbles something under his breath, then calls out, "Wake up and get your ass out here, I need the friggin' place for the dogs."

Dean blinks, confused, then realizes he is putting up a show for possible eavesdroppers. He curses and climbs out of the car, joining Bobby at the back.

"He's driving with us in the front, help me get him up."

For the first time in days Dean doesn't notice the pain from his wounded shoulder as he reaches down and helps Bobby pull their precious cargo from the back. Sam tenses as they touch him, does his best to help them but doesn't seem to have enough energy left. He ends up hanging between the two of them with barely enough control over his body to lift his head. His skin is too warm to the touch and he's trembling ever so slightly. Sam blinks groggily at them, offering neither help nor resistance as they try to get him to his feet. His eyes never leave Dean's face and the older brother feels his throat close up at the utter relief in them.

Next to him Bobby tightens his grip on the younger hunter. "Boy, you look terrible, you doin' okay?" Sam blinks at him blearily, a confused frown appearing on his brow.

"Bobby?" he breathes weakly and Dean feels himself wince. Yeah, there was that—

"Let's get out of here, okay, Sam? We need to get you someplace else…" Sam's head slowly turns back to look at him and after a moment he simply nods.

"'kay."

When they start moving toward the passenger's door Sam suddenly tenses between them, groaning miserably.

"You gonna hurl?" Bobby's voice is gruff as ever, but Dean can hear the underlying worry. Maybe because his own is screaming at him to finally get his brother some place safe.

Sam shakes his head slightly. "No, hands…"

Belatedly Dean realizes that his brother's hands are still tied behind his back. The way Sam's hanging between them has to be putting a lot of pressure on them. He shifts his brother's weight and Sam rests his chin on Bobby's shoulder, too weak to hold it up for long. Dean twists to get a good look at the bound hands and barely catches himself in time to avoid spitting out a heartfelt curse. Sam's wrists are a mess. Three different plastic bands dig into his skin, at least one of them tight enough to cut off any blood circulation. Sam must have been fighting against the bonds, his wrists are torn and bloody, though most of the blood has dried. Dean isn't sure if it's really bone he can see in one of the deeper cuts.

"Jesus, Sam, what did they do, tie you to the truck or something?" A wave of helplessness threatens to overcome him and he almost goes under when he hears Sam whisper breathlessly.

"Or something…"

Dean looks up at Bobby, mouth tightened in worry. "I can't get them off here, we need something to stop the bleeding."

Bobby shakes his head before Dean can ask for the first aid kit.

"We gotta leave, Dean, now." His tone is urgent, there's something he is not telling him. Dean doesn't like that but, of course, he trusts him, with both their lives. When Bobby tells you to leave you better get out as fast as you can. Dean tightens his hold on his brother, ignores the pained gasp that sounds in his ear and looks over at the truck cab. There's only enough room for them to sit thigh-to-thigh next to each other, which will be hell on Sam's wrists. But there is no other choice.

"Sorry, Sammy…" Giving the dirty, shaggy hair an apologetic pat, he adjusts Sam between them and together they drag him to the passenger door. It takes them a few tries but they finally manage to get the stiff body onto the seat. Sam barely makes a sound—only when his hands are moved does he lose the fight against his stubbornness and let out a pained groan. Dean slides in next to him, twisting as far to the right as he can to make as much room as possible. Sam finally ends up sprawling awkwardly against Dean's uninjured side, his head resting heavily against his brother's shoulder in an attempt to take some of the pressure off his wrists. Dean supports him as best as he can, wrinkling his nose at the smell of blood, sweat and other things so close to him.

"Dude, you stink…" he murmurs into Sam's neck, barely able to hide the relief about having him back, finally having him close again. His brother's response is nothing more than a half-hearted, half-asleep mumble that doesn't contain any actual words at all. Sam is fading fast, Bobby hasn't even started the truck when the tired eyes flutter closed and don't open again. Sam becomes a dead weight against Dean, and Dean isn't really sure if he has fallen asleep or passed out at that point, but he is still breathing and that's all that counts for now.


	5. Chapter 5

THE WINCHESTER GOSPELS  
LUCIFER RISING: 2,1 –2,10

**The Manipulations of the angel Zachariah:** 2,1—2,10

2 This is the book of the generations of Campbell and Winchester. In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made he him. 2 Male and female created he them; and blessed them, and called their name Campbell and Winchester, in the day when they were created. 3 And unto the Campbells was born Samuel. 4 And Samuel was a hunter of demons, and Deanna was his wife. 5 And Samuel knew his wife Deanna; and she conceived and bare Mary. 6 And Mary was a hunter of demons and Samuel and Mary slew demons.

7 And unto the Winchesters was born John. 8 And John was a mechanic (1) and knew not of demons.

8 And the angel Zachariah called out to his brethren, and said unto them, It is the will of our LORD God that John knowest Mary. 9 And an angel stripped of all pretense and unclothed in the eyes of the LORD God did craft the symbols of love and life and eternity onto the hearts of John and Mary.

10 And thus John knew his wife Mary; and she conceived and bare two sons, Dean and Samuel.

(1) mechanic: crafter of machines


	6. Chapter 6

The kids are not asleep when they get back. Yanni is waiting for them at the door, hair no longer ruffled but more or less under control. The boy watches them silently as they drag Sam across the floor toward their makeshift hospital ward, never in their way but still close enough to help. When they shuffle past the bedroom Dean catches a glimpse of Nox sitting cross-legged on his sleeping-bag, still a little blurry-eyed but very much awake. His eyes grow wide the moment they set on Sam.

"What happened?"

He doesn't get to answer because Bobby suddenly stumbles over a lose floor board and Sam staggers as Bobby loses his grip. Dean has to catch his brother's weight completely and he can't quite swallow the pained groan when his shoulder is twisted exactly the wrong way and agony lances through his chest. His vision grays out for a moment and he is pretty sure he staggers sideways. And then Sam's weight is lifted from his shoulders and although he mumbles a protest and tries to hang on to him he feels himself being led somewhere else. Things go a little fuzzy after that, but he simply refuses to be dragged under.

When the world finally rights itself on its axis and he can see again he finds himself sitting on the front end of their 'hospital' bed. Something warm is pressed against his left thigh and he gradually becomes aware of movement around him.

"—an ye need tae keep him still, Ah think he's wakin' up an he's gonna want tae fight me when the pain sets in." Nox' voice drifts closer, stressed, worried and unmistakable.

Bobby's growl right next to him makes Dean jump in surprise at how close the older hunter is to him. "Don't worry about that, Dean'll keep him down, just try to stop the bleeding." Still dazed Dean looks down to where the voice is coming from and finds Bobby kneeling next to the bed. Bobby's eyes met his and he nods toward the warm weight on his thigh. "Hold him down."

Dean blinks and finally sees Sam lying next to him. His brother's long legs are hanging over the frame and his head is pressing against Dean's leg. He is lying face down on the bed, hands still tied behind his back. As Dean watches Sam's forehead creases slightly and he starts blinking groggily.

"Dean." Bobby nudges his knee slightly and Dean finally shakes off the lethargy. His gaze flicks over to the other side of the bed where Nox is half-sitting, half-kneeling over Sam, hands resting lightly over his brother's forearms. His eyes are closed in concentration, and Dean knows from recent experience how warm his hands have to feel where they touch Sam's skin. Yanni is hovering behind him next to the bed, watching with a worried expression as Bobby leans forward with a pair of pliers and starts to work on the first band.

For a moment there is silence, but as Bobby starts to pull Sam groans softly against Dean's leg and tenses, drawing his brother's gaze back down to him. Sam is squinting at Dean's jeans, his breath too warm where it ghosts over the cloth. His mind is trying to make sense of his surroundings but he seems to draw a blank, the confused frown slowly morphing into a worried, then anxious, expression. Dean reaches out, smoothing his hand through the dirty, shaggy hair.

"Hey, Sammy, it's okay, I got you…" he mumbles softly, throat closing up at the familiar words. Sam tenses even more beneath him. Something snaps then, and Dean looks up in time to see Bobby carefully pull the first band off Sam's wrist and toss it onto the floor. The older hunter briefly squeezes Sam's nearest shoulder, then raises the pliers again.

"Dean?" Sam's voice is hoarse, laced with pain and, most of all, confusion. His head starts moving restlessly on the covers and Dean realizes he is trying to look up at him but lacking the strength and the necessary leverage to move. "D'n?"

Dean leans forward, bending his body awkwardly to get himself a little more into Sam's line of sight. His shoulder protests sharply against the movement but he ignores it. "Yeah, Sammy. It's me, I've got ya. You're safe. Don't fight Bobby, okay?" And Dean's heart lurches in shared agony as Sam suddenly shouts out in pain and starts squirming in earnest, chest arching off the bed as he tries to get away from the pliers.

"Hold him down," the older hunter barks at Dean, and next to him Nox groans softly, forehead scrunching up in discomfort.

"Hurry," the psychic growls out under his breath and tries his best to hold Sam's trembling arms down and immobile. Sweat his starting to show on his face and Dean remembers how the healer once told him how it is getting increasingly harder for him do differentiate between his patient's and his own pain the longer a healing takes. He doesn't know how those powers work, but he does know that the Scot is still recovering his mental strength from when he saved Dean's shredded shoulder two days ago.

Sam is panting in agony now, and despite his earlier exhaustion he starts bucking so violently beneath their hands that Bobby almost loses his grip on the pliers.

"Dammit, Dean, hold him down!"

Mentally apologizing to his panicking sibling, Dean does the only thing he can: he gets a one-handed hold on Sam's sweaty neck and pushes him down onto the covers, insides twisting in regret when he catches a flash of desperate, confused eyes. "Easy, Sam, don't fight this, we need to get them off, shhh, calm down, Sammy, please, I got you, I'm here…"

Keeping up his litany of soothing words he has to lean over Sam to be able to hold him down, feeling a surge of pride at how Sam summons up his last reserves of strength to fight against what must seem like a life-threatening situation to him. Even if that isn't really helping them right now.

And then there is another snap and Sam cries out loud enough to make Dean's ears ring. All of a sudden his body goes limp beneath them and Dean looks down in time to see his eyes roll back into the back of his head.

"Great timing, Sammy…" Dean growls under his breath, then looks up at a soft exclamation of triumph.

"Gotcha!" Bobby is holding up two bloody plastic bands and Dean's eyes are involuntarily drawn toward Sam's wrist. Nox is still holding on to Sam's arms and Dean becomes aware of a soft mumbling that had been drowned out by Sam's cries of pain earlier. The words sound foreign, almost as if the man is talking backwards and Dean doesn't understand them at all, but they seem to be important, like a spell. Dean keeps quiet as the healer works to keep Sam from bleeding out from the deep gashes in his wrists.

And, just like that, it's over, Nox lets go of Sam's arms and all but collapses against the wall. His hands are shaking and his eyes are closed, a pained grimace twisting his features. Yanni is holding out a tattered blanket to him but he doesn't react, just leans back, catching his breath, so the teen simply climbs onto the bed and drapes the cloth across his shoulders.

"You okay, kid?" Bobby has stood up and is carefully rolling Sam onto his side, but his eyes are on the psychic. They watch as he smiles his thanks at Yanni and then blinks a few times.

"A'm fine…" he huffs breathlessly after a moment and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Dean remembers how Nox literally passed out the first time he ever saw him heal and didn't wake up for hours. He learned then that psychic healing takes a lot out of the healer, up to the point where they could die if they weren't careful enough and transferred too much healing energy into their patient. And there is so much Dean has seen him do with that power so far, so many risks the kid has taken—

"Bleeding is stopped as far as Ah can tell. There is nae leakin' inside his body, so he's lucky that way. Ribs are cracked though, an badly, gonna hurt like a bitch."

And Dean can suddenly breathe easier. Whatever happened to Sam, whatever his brother went through, this is the first time he actually believes that he's made it through, that he has Sam back. His lips twist into a broad, relieved smile before he can stop them and he reaches down to brush Sam's bangs away from his too warm forehead. Bobby reads his expression correctly and pats his knee slightly.

"He's going to be fine, Dean, relax." The older hunter gets up and stretches for a moment. "I'm gonna go and see if I find something to trade for bandages, you keep an eye on the kid. And Dean? Stay down, will ya? The last thing we—_Nox_ needs is you bleeding again."

He leaves the room, Yanni trailing silently behind him after giving Dean a thumbs up and a small smile. The kid has been Bobby's shadow ever since they found him. The older hunter had been the only one who could talk to him using the American Sign Language at first and Dean still finds it too difficult to follow a conversation they have this way, both of them flashing signs so fast that he rarely sees more than moving hands.

Dean scoots back on the bed so he can stretch out his legs in front of him and lean against the wall. Sam is laying on his side now, arms stretched out in front of him so that Bobby can work on his wrists. The older Winchester feels a little guilty that he cannot really help them look after his brother, but his shoulder is crying out in serious protest whenever he so much as takes a deep breath. Apart from that, he can't really dress wounds one-handed anyway, so he has to leave that task to Bobby.

But there is still one thing he can do. He slowly lifts Sam's head to rest on his thigh where he can keep a close eye on him. His eyes grow heavy and he concentrates on relaxing his body, listens to Sam breathing quietly beside him.

"So, that's yer brither?" Nox' voice is soft, the usual playfulness that underlies most of what he says completely gone. "The one ye wer callin' tae in yer sleep?"

Choosing to ignore the second question, Dean nods slowly. "Yeah, this is him, this is Sam." He squeezes his brother's neck softly, curling one of the long strands around his finger for a moment. It feels like Sam is running a fever, they should get some fluids into him and his hair definitely is in need of washing…

A mischievous chuckle sounds next to him. "He disna look like ye at all, ye ken?" Another giggle. "Seems like he's the lucky one, eh?"

Dean snorts. "Shut up, _Andrew_." He knows the psychic doesn't really like being called by his first name and has consequently done so ever since he got to know him, just to annoy him. Which works like a charm, every time.

Nox huffs another laugh, then there is the sound of something being unwrapped. A moment later a familiar smell drifts towards him and Dean slowly rolls his head to the side and cracks his eyes open. Sure enough the Scot is tearing hungrily into one of the few candy bars they have stored for occasions like this, chewing with an expression of utter bliss. The official version has something to do with low blood-sugar-levels and Nox pouring something like his life-essence into the persons he heals and the candy helping him to restore some of that energy after a particularly big healing.

Dean firmly believes he made that up because of his infamous sweet tooth.

He watches the psychic for a long moment. "Thanks."

The young man takes a moment to focus on him and Dean once again realizes how weird it feels to look into those eyes. When he first met him Dean had assumed that the Scot was blind on one eye, that, through some accident or an illness maybe, one of his eyes had lost its color and sight in the process. Then he'd had a chance to have a closer look and had discovered that Nox has bi-colored eyes, one a dark brown and the other a stunning sky-blue. It is confusing to say the least, he is never sure on which one of them to focus. And if Nox really puts some heat behind a glare he can actually send a chill down Dean's back.

Not that he would ever admit to that.

"Ye're welcome." The quiet voice pulls him out of his musings and he finds Nox looking down thoughtfully at Sam. "He'll pull throu, will nae be easy but he'll survive." Their eyes meet again and there's a reassuring smile at the corners of Nox' lips. "Ye might want tae get some sleep, mate, ye look terrible." With those words the Scot starts sitting up slowly, swaying slightly. Dean doesn't bother telling him how terrible he looks but he can't quite fight back a worried frown when Nox closes his eyes for a (_too_) long moment. His growled words a second later though prove that he is still among the conscious. "Ye quit starin' at me like that, A'm fine."

"Sure you are…" Dean is already thinking about how to get off the bed without having to move his shoulder too much, but Bobby saves him the trouble when he materializes outside the door, arms loaded down with bandages. One look at the swaying psychic and he puts down the bandages on the table, pointing a finger first at Nox, then at Dean. The older Winchester is pretty sure he's talking to both of them when he growls, "Sit back down ya' idjit!"

Nox rolls his eyes but sinks down onto the bed obediently while Dean simply leans back against the wall.

"Bobby, Ah need tae sleep and there's nae way A'm stayin' here with General Ackbar and Chewbacca takin' up the bed, Ah need some space to myself."

It takes Dean too long to realize that he has just been compared to a fish-alien from one of his favorite movies. He opens his mouth to come back with—well, probably just a lame insult along the lines of comparing the Scot to Jar Jar Binks, but then Nox all but collapses against Bobby and gives a soft groan and Dean's words lock in his throat.

"Jus' wan' tae sleep…" The psychic sounds as if he is falling asleep while talking and Bobby staggers for a moment until he gets a good grip on him and pulls the exhausted man to his feet. Yanni appears at his side and before Dean can get his tired brain to say something they have already disappeared out of the room.

He blinks groggily and lets his body slump against the cushions. His gaze trails down to the shaggy head on his thigh and he squeezes Sam's neck softly before his hand becomes too heavy to hold up any longer. He wants to stay awake, he needs to know how his brother is doing, needs to see Bobby taking care of Sam when he can't do it himself. But his body has other ideas, one moment he is watching the door through squinted eyes and the next the door is gone, disappears in a black hole that swallows everything.

And then he's gone.


	7. Chapter 7

THE WINCHESTER GOSPELS  
LUCIFER RISING: 3,1 –3,18

**The Workings of Azazel:** 3,1 – 3,18

**1** It came to pass that the demon Azazel set out to find the place where his father, Lucifer, was cast into the bottomless pit. **2** And he came unto a nun factory (1) in the lands of Mary (2).

**3** It was there that he made a sacrifice and slaughtered the nuns.** 4** And he prayed unto his lord, calling unto to him, Father, I call unto thee, seeking thy guidance. **5** Canst thou not whisper through the door of thy cage?

**6** And Lucifer said unto him, I am here my child.

**7** And the demon Azazel called unto him, How can I free thee, Father? How can ye walk the earth again?

**8** And Lucifer said unto him, Thou hath to break the seals on this door.

**9** And the demon Azazel despaired of this and he cried out, The seals are many, Father, and I cannot break them.

**10** And Lucifer spoke truth to his demon, Despair not, my child, for there is hope. **11** Lilith shall break the seals.

**12** And Azazel despaired of this a second time and he cried out, Lilith cannot be set free, Father, for she is on the bottom of the bottomless pit and cannot be reached.

**13** And Lucifer said onto him, Fear not, ye shall find a way to free her. **14** And together ye shall work to find the path to my freedom. **15** And ye shall find me a child, a very special child.

**16** And Azazel rejoiced and called unto his lord, Yes, I shall do as ye ask, I shall free Lilith and together we shall find the child.

**17 **And Lucifer was pleased and spoke further, And as ye make up the shadows in the valley of death, ye shall fear no evil, for I am with ye.

**18** And henceforth Azazel's eyes did burn with the light of the Morningstar.

(1) nun factory: convent

(2) lands of Mary: Maryland


	8. Chapter 8

He doesn't know what wakes him, but at least it's a slow process this time; he becomes aware of things gradually instead of everything battering his senses at once. First thing he notices is his shoulder, and there's no nice way to describe it, it just hurts like a bitch. Dean grumbles something even he can't make out and then groans even louder when rolling slowly onto his back just makes it hurt more.

Sound is next thing that registers. There is quiet breathing next to him, the clattering of dishes a room over, and the sound of the occasional car passing by outside. Footsteps slowly shuffle down the hall and stop. When he finally succeeds in forcing his tired eyes open he can make out a blurry shape leaning against the side of the door. It takes a few blinks until a blond head comes into focus–and then Yanni is smiling down at him from across the room, head tilted slightly to the side with his eyebrows raised in a silent question. But Dean is still too groggy to figure out what he is being asked, so he settles for a smile of his own before he closes his eyes and tries to remember what—

_Sam!_

If rolling onto his back a moment ago hurt, sitting up in a flash has him in agony. He grunts out in pain before he can swallow down the noise. His eyes squeeze shut and he can sense the world around him starting to spin. A warm hand appears on his shoulder and steadies him until he can finally open his eyes again. Yanni's smile has turned into a frown and he pokes his finger accusingly into Dean's good shoulder. Dean ignores the boy's worried face and takes a look around, realizing that he is sitting on his cot in their sleeping-room. He remembers falling asleep next to his brother, then there is a short flash of Bobby telling him to "move, ya idjit", his bed, warm, laying down…

"How is he?" His voice sounds weird, even to himself, but he ignores that too. He does, however, move more carefully now as he slowly turns on the cot and slides his feet out of the bed.

Yanni has his arms crossed in front of his chest and is watching him with a disapproving scowl on his face. Dean knows the teen isn't too happy about him getting out of bed in his condition and if it wasn't for his brother he would have gladly just turned around and gone back to sleep. Yanni reads his determined (_stubborn_) expression and rolls his eyes, then his scowl softens and the smile is back. Even before he starts signing slowly, Dean already knows that Sam must be better than last night. Yanni wouldn't be at ease and smiling like that if he wasn't.

[He fine. He sleep.]

He underlines 'sleep' with a pointed glare at Dean.

"I hear you, kid, but I need to see him." Dean grumbles softly under his breath and slowly scoots closer to the side of his cot. Yanni gives an exasperated sigh but moves closer without hesitating, pushing his shoulder beneath Dean's good one and does his best to help him stand. Which, once Dean is upright and standing on his own feet, isn't much since the teen is a few significant inches smaller than him. Not to mention his slender build which doesn't leave him with enough strength to support Dean's heavy weight on his own. But they manage somehow, shuffling down the hall in a slow but steady pace.

The hospital room is quiet; there is only a small lamp on one of the desks casting weak shadows on the wall and the floor. There is a long, dark lump on the far side of the bed. Dean can make out a familiar tousled head and he slowly limps toward it, sinking into the chair next to the head of the bed. Yanni steps back from him and pats his shoulder slightly, then disappears out of the room.

Sam is lying on his side, arms still stretched out in front of him. They are the only part of his body that is not covered in blankets, apart from his head. White bandages cover his wrists and the better part of his hands, and Dean releases a relieved sigh when he gets a good look at Sam's fingers. Despite the plastic bands biting into his skin deep enough to cut through to the bone they don't seem to have suffered from the loss of circulation; they don't look swollen and have no blues tinge to them, which Dean takes as a very good sign.

There is an IV snaking into Sam's left arm, connected to a bag that's been put on a nail on the wall behind him. The bag isn't labeled, but Dean thinks it's some of their last painkillers or maybe something to keep him hydrated. Sam's eyes are closed, his face completely relaxed, his breathing deep and even. Several bruises cover his skin, the most prominent ones beneath his left eye and what he can see of Sam's throat. They almost look like strangulation marks, which, knowing his brother's tendency to be strangled by just about every thing both living and dead, wouldn't come as a great surprise to him. He takes a look at the scruff Sam usually tries to pass off as a beard after days of hiking through the woods, and knows his brother will be itching to take care of some grooming stuff once he is lucid enough to remember how to spell his first name.

All in all Sam looks exhausted and beaten, but _nothing_ at all like what Dean's fears had been conjuring up in his nightmares for weeks.

_Thank God…_

Something suddenly moves next to him and he whirls around to—

—cry out in pain and double over. _Fuuuuuu_…

When the dark spots vanish from his vision he finds Yanni looking at him with wide eyes, a blanket clutched in one of his hands. The kid's face instantly moves into an apologetic grimace and his right hand starts rotating over his chest in quick, clockwise motions. It takes Dean a moment to realize the teen is saying 'sorry' over and over again. It's the first sign he's learned from him after scaring the boy half to death by pulling a gun on him when he didn't hear him approaching from behind.

_Dammit_…

Dean fights for a moment to get his breath under control, and then forces a smile at him. "'s okay, 'm fine." He huffs out, but even as he's saying he sees that the kid doesn't buy it. Yanni holds out the blanket to him as another apology, then retreats out of the room so fast that Dean cannot ask him to stay. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, staring at the blanket in his lap for a moment. They know the kid is traumatized, something must have happened to him before they found him that has turned him into a nervous, skittish person. Sudden moves, loud noises, even a raised voice can sometimes be enough to send him running and then it takes Bobby hours to coax him back from wherever he is hiding. Dean runs a tired hand over his eyes and closes them for a moment. Man, Bobby's so going to kick his ass for that…again.

"Dean?"

The whisper is so low he almost misses it, but then his head whips around to look at the bed so quickly he feels another stab of pain lance through his shoulder and the black dots are back again. He is pretty sure he's groaning in discomfort and he really needs to work on keeping those reactions inside.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam seems to exhale the words rather than speak them; they are badly slurred, barely recognizable. He is squinting up at him blearily, lips parted slightly as he breathes, not as deeply as before. His brows are drawn together into a frown and as Dean watches Sam's eyes squeeze shut in pain as he takes a deeper breath which he gasps out in a breathless moan a second later. "Fuuu…"

Dean carefully leans toward him, resting his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Take it easy, your ribs are cracked." He squeezes the shoulder gently, smiling sympathetically when Sam fights his eyes open and blinks up at him, panting softly.

"'sucks…"

Dean wants to answer him, crack some wise-ass comment about Sam using his body as a punching bag but finds himself unable to, he almost chokes on the words when there's only one thought ringing loudly inside his mind.

_Thank God, thank _God_ you're here._

Uhm…

Has to be the sleep deprivation that is finally catching up with him. Or the pain meds (_he didn't take_)—

"What happened to your shoulder?"

Sam' words are still garbled and he is apparently having a hard time to get them out between his clenched teeth. But he is looking up at Dean with as much a worried expression as he can manage at the moment. His eyes are glazed over with pain and he isn't moving anything besides his lips, obviously trying to keep as still as possible. Dean knows from years of painful experience how much cracked ribs hurt even when you are sitting upright with nothing putting pressure on them. Lying on his side with his arms stretched out in front of him has to be pulling at all kinds of muscles inside his chest – and it must be pure agony for his brother. And there is nothing he can do to help him.

Dean pulls his hand away from Sam's shoulder and slowly leans back inside his chair, watching his wheezing sibling for a moment, not really sure how much to tell him. He finally settles for as close to the truth as he can get without freaking his brother out. "I, uhm, I got into a little something outside a bar a few days ago. Turns out I don't have eyes on the back of my head…" He freezes as soon as the words are out of his mouth. _Damn. _He meant it as humor, but it falls flat. The first thing they talk about is that he needs someone to have his back. After everything they've been through, after what he did back then…

Sleep deprivation. Obviously.

Sam is squinting worriedly at him, and Dean knows the pain in the ass is seeing right through him. He doesn't even need to use his goddam mojo from the looks of it. Freakin' empaths. And freakin' Sam for being their freakin' king or something.

But Sam is not the only one who can do read his brother, Dean is not defenseless this time; there is something he can do to get out of this. He lets out a deep breath and looks down at his sibling without blinking. "'Or something'?" He quotes Sam from the night before and is rewarded with a small flinch and a brother who suddenly drops his gaze and won't meet his eyes anymore.

_Gotcha_.

"Sam, what happened to you, who did this?" He gestures vaguely at Sam and the bed. "You forget everything I told you? When they get you, don't fight them; stay low, don't draw attention to yourself. What did you do to piss them off like this?"

He has learned enough during his stay on the slave-trucks to know that the demons need their future vessels intact and won't hurt them (_much_) unless they need to intimidate the newcomers. Knowing his brother he thinks it's safe to assume that Sam stepped between one of them beating a helpless prisoner. And he is okay with that, even if it means that Sam is going to be in some serious pain for the next couple of weeks. Protecting others comes with the job description, comes to them as natural as breathing, so he can't really blame him, but it doesn't stop the lecture because Sam needs to take care of himself too, especially now—

"They took the necklace."

Dean's thoughts stutter to a stop.

Necklace? What—

And then he remembers.

He remembers that night: making up his mind, the fear (_panic_!), not wanting to go but having no other option, the need to save them, buy them time—

"_No." Owen was shaking his head over and over again, arms crossed in front of his chest, mind made up. He was blocking the only exit out of the room by simply planting his big frame in the small opening. 'Small' because Owen had to be the biggest human alive— he even had a few inches on Sam._

"_Don't be an idiot, man, it's our—your— best hope, and you know it." Dean was packing his bag, stuffing things into it he knew he wouldn't need where he was going but would take with him just to prove to himself (and the others) that he was indeed serious about this. He'd leave them the Impala, he'd already made up his mind about that. She was way faster than the SUV they'd come across the week before and she'd get them away from there. He hated leaving her behind, hated that he didn't even have time to say his goodbyes to her, but, to be honest, the car wasn't foremost on his mind. _

_He needed to be gone before Sam was back._

"_Did you tell him?" Owen was still blocking the door, but something in his stance had changed. If Dean didn't know better he'd think that the older man looked resigned. Dean shook his head slightly, not looking at the other, scanning the small bedroom he was currently sharing with his brother. The brother he was going to leave behind._

_The brother he would never see again—_

He remembers how he'd taken his necklace off and left it on Sam's pillow, then put the keys to the car next to it, a message his brother would understand.

It's the hardest thing he has ever done.

_I'm sorry…_

Sam is watching him silently, no doubt picking up on something again. Dean looks back at him, takes in Sam's pale face, the worried gaze, his brother, right there. And then he suddenly just smiles. For a second he forgets all appearances; Dean's eyes meet Sam's, and for a short, long overdue instant, the connection between them flares, he shares a heart-to-heart moment with his brother. A brother who is out of his mind due to heavy painkillers so he hopefully won't remember any of it but, hell yeah, in Dean's book it still counts. And so he keeps smiling at his brother until Sam's expression changes from worried to slightly freaked.

"You 'kay?"

He doesn't get to answer, suddenly the light is switched on (another single light-bulb with barely enough power to brighten the room) and he turns his head to find Bobby in the open doorway, holding a bottle of water, a cup, and a new bag for the IV.

"He awake?" Bobby gestures toward the blankets and at Dean's nod the older hunter comes in and gets over to the bed, looking down at their patient. "How are you feeling, kid?"

Sam is looking up at Bobby with a weird expression, a mix between disbelief, hope and something almost like horror and Dean is once again reminded that the last thing his brother heard about their old friend is the fact that Bobby died in a fire that destroyed his salvage yard. They had spent the following night sharing memories about Bobby and the place and the weeks they spent with him while their Dad was gone on hunts. They had never talked about the older hunter after that. Right now, in his still fevered condition, Sam is probably thinking he is faced with a ghost— which, considering everything they know about what's out there…

"Bobby?" Sam's voice sounds troubled, worried, and he starts to move slowly, tries to sit up. Dean winces, opening his mouth to calm him down, but before he can say anything, Bobby crouches down in front of the bed and smiles at Sam, slowly reaching out to gently squeeze his shoulder.

"Yeah, son, it's me, I ain't dead."

Sam keeps staring at him suspiciously, clearly unwilling to trust his eyes, and Dean almost expects him to ask for a tire iron as a weapon to defend himself with. But then Sam seems to reach a conclusion and his pale face lights up with a tired, yet relieved smile. "Greatly exaggerated…." He croaks out hoarsely and Bobby seems to get whatever meaning is behind those words, grinning back at the injured young mean and giving his shoulder another pat.

"Damn right." He checks Sam's temperature with the back of his hand, and just for a moment Dean is reminded of his father looking after a sick Sam. He pushes that thought away as far as he can, tells it to back off and stay gone and thank God, when he looks again it's Bobby who leans back, asking his brother how he is feeling.

Sam thinks about his answer for a moment and Dean knows that look, knows Sam is going to say something along the lines of feeling '_okay_' or '_not bad—'_ in short, he's going to lie to them, but then his brother looks up to Bobby and then simply shakes his head slightly.

"Been better…" he mumbles quietly and although he clearly looks the part, Dean doesn't feel very good about his brother admitting that he is anything but fine. It makes him look too vulnerable and weak for his liking and that's just not something Dean associates with his brother. Bobby doesn't look too happy either, but he doesn't say anything, just nods.

"Get some rest, Sam."

Bobby starts checking the bandages on Sam's hands and Sam watches him, still looking relieved to see the man, alive and whole. But Dean can see he is slowly losing the fight against his exhaustion. A few blinks later and Sam's eyes don't open again, his body gradually relaxing into the mattress beneath him. Bobby treats his wounds expertly, changes the IV-bag and then gets to his feet, groaning softly when his knees pop audibly in protest, then turns toward Dean. The older hunter's face is serious and Dean just knows he won't like whatever comes next.

"We need to get him mobile; they're coming. Maro's picked up some rumors, seems like they'll get to this block tomorrow or the day after that. We need to get moving." For a moment he doesn't sound like the man Dean has known for years, there is a note of seriousness to his voice that had not been there before The Storms. And he knows why. People are dependent on Bobby these days; he is responsible for their safety and well-being and, like everything else, he takes that responsibility seriously. And if the news is true and the _scavengers_ are closing in on them, they need to get going. No, scratch that, they should be gone right about _now_.

This is _so_ not good, moving Sam in his condition is a worry on one level, but the troops once again advancing in their direction when they thought they had covered their tracks was an alarming turn of events. If Sam in his weakened condition is spotted by a _tracker_ there will be no way of protecting him without risking the discovery of the rest of them. Bobby will not take this risk and Dean agrees silently.

He scans his brother for a moment, then looks up at the older hunter, clearly unhappy with what he is about to say. "When are we leaving?"

Bobby notices his worried expression and grimaces slightly, as close to an apology as he is ever going to get. "Afternoon ideally, I'll have the kids pack the truck. Sam and Yanni are going with me, you think you're up to looking after the others?"

No, he isn't up to that, he doesn't want to get separated when Sam is in no condition to defend himself. He really, really hates this plan. And he hates it even more 'cause he knows it's the only way this is going to work, Yanni will be able to shield Sam's presence from any demon patrol they might meet and Bobby needs Dean to look after the rest of them. He doesn't have a choice. And it sucks. He nods slightly but doesn't make an effort to hide just how much this goes against every fiber of his being. Bobby gives him a short nod.

"Let him rest. We'll wrap his ribs later so he can move. Maybe Andrew can help him with the pain then."

Dean's eyes drift back to his sleeping sibling and he leans back in his chair, trying to get at least a little comfortable. Damned chairs weren't made for bedside vigils, but then again even the damned chairs in the many hospitals they've been in never were anything but uncomfortable. He closes his eyes and lets his thoughts drift for a moment, but Bobby's voice pulls him back.

"Try to get some rest, Dean, you look like death warmed over; kids need you rested and sharp out there, we can't lose you because you ran yourself ragged."

_Dammit_…

He doesn't really remember the trip back to his bed, there is warmth and a comfortable mattress beneath him and then his eyes don't want to stay open anymore.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, guys, there is one chapter left for this, I have already written half of it. I'm not the fastest writer there is out there, part of it is 'cause English isn't my first language and that really slows me down sometimes. The other reason is that the lack of response to this story is really killing my enthusiasm to work on it. I don't believe in begging your readers for reviews 'cause that feels kind of stupid to me, on the other hand I've been working on this for over four months now, putting time and a lot of effort into this and not hearing a thing from your readers leaves you wondering if people are even interested. I really hope you guys are enjoying this and I will work on the last part and finish this since I love working on this story.


	9. Chapter 9

**THE WINCHESTER GOSPELS**

**LUCIFER RISING: 4, 1 – 4, 14**

**The Freeing of Lilith: 4,1 – 4,14**

**1 **And the demon Azazel set out to do his Lord's bidding and free Lilith. **2** But Lilith had been cast into the bottomless pit and there she was on the bottom of the pit and therefore Azazel could not reach her.

**3** And thus he set out to find human children who had psychic powers.

**4** And he visited their mothers and spoke unto them and made a deal with them. **5** And the deal was thus that the demon Azazel could enter their houses when their children were exactly six months old.

**6** And when a child was exactly six months old Azazel entered the house and visited the child in the nursery and bled into the child's mouth.

**7** And then the demon Azazel killed many of the mothers who saw him feeding blood to their children and he burnt the mothers on the ceiling of their nurseries for no particular reason.

**8** And Azazel set out to feed many children because his demon blood was better than mother's milk.

**9** And one of the children was to be the leader of Azazel's demon army and it was to be the strongest child.

**10** And the demon Azazel had to find the strongest child to be the leader of his demon army. **11** And he made it thus that he appeared in their dreams and spoke unto them, Fear not my child, for it is I, your leader.

**12** And he spoke unto them further, You are a special child, you will achieve great victories in my name.

**13** And the demon Azazel promised them great fame and luxury for their loyalties and many children followed his call.

**14** And thus the first step to freeing Lilith from the bottom of the bottomless pit was taken.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam's voice comes from the next room. Dean looks up from where he has been contemplating the steaming mug of coffee next to his bed after waking up. His brother sounds so _normal_, free of pain and misery, if still a little slurred, that it's surprising enough to get Dean upright and out of his bed. He doesn't understand the words but Sam is asking a question. A moment later Bobby's voice drifts through the thin walls, a little louder but still not clear enough to understand. Both of them sound calm though and Dean relaxes slightly.

He moves as slowly and carefully as possible and gets the cup from the nightstand, takes a cautious sip, then grimaces at the all too familiar bitter taste. Bobby's coffee then. _Great_. He pulls a face but takes another nip, mourning their non-existent sugar/milk supply for the appropriate amount of time, before he slowly shuffles—_approaches_ the next room.

Sam is sitting on the bed, long legs over the edge of it and feet on the floor. He is swaying slightly and Dean can see how difficult it is for him to remain upright and sitting: Sam's face is tense, lips pressed together in a small line. Yanni is standing in front of him and Sam's hands are resting on the kid's shoulders and this support seems to be the only thing that is keeping the unsteady hunter from toppling off the bed. Bobby is half-kneeling, half-crouching at Sam's side, talking softly while he carefully wraps bandages around Sam's ribs to stabilize them.

Nox is kneeling on the bed, behind Sam, both of his hands resting on the young hunter's neck. His eyes are closed in concentration and for a moment Dean wonders what he is doing. Then his position and Sam's more or less relaxed expression suddenly make sense and he knows the Scot is using his famous _'Jedi-emergency-grip'_. It's Nox' unique term for one of the most useful psychic powers Dean has ever witnessed, with nothing but a touch and concentration on his part the young man is able to block whatever pain his target is suffering. It doesn't _heal_ anything, the power doesn't stop bleedings or reset bones but it enables you to get up and get _moving_ if you are injured during a fight and it has saved their asses more than once already.

Dean has been on the receiving end of it once, when he dislocated (_broke_) his shoulder a few days ago, it had been the only way to get him to the car without him passing out from the pain. He remembers bone-deep warmth enveloping his shoulder, how it had driven the pain completely away and he is pretty sure he promised Nox his first-born to make sure the psychic would be helping him during the drive to their hideout.

Something moves in his line of sight and pulls him out of his memories, back toward his brother. Sam's shirt is lying in a dirty heap on the floor, giving Dean a clear view of his battered torso: colorful bruises decorate the greater part of the exposed skin, concentrating on his right side, just below his ribs. His face is pale, drawn, cheeks flushed with a fever Dean can almost feel from where he is standing outside the room. And still his eyes are awake and clear, no doubt thanks to the psychic behind him and whatever magic Nox is channeling into his body.

And then Sam looks up and their eyes meet.

For a moment neither speaks or moves, they just stare at each other. Dean knows his brother had been drugged and half-asleep last night while they were talking and he suspects that this is the first time since they got him away from the demons that Sam realizes it's really him.

"Dean…" Sam's voice is still barely there and he looks like he doesn't believe his eyes. Dean fights to keep the smile on his lips and he walks into the room, getting closer to the bed.

"About time you woke up…" he grins, watching how his brother takes in the sling that holds his right arm and a worried frown appears on Sam's brow.

"You okay?"

Dean looks down at the sling, then back at his brother, nodding slightly. "I'm fine, Sam."

Something flickers in Sam's eyes and he pulls back slightly, which, in turn, has Dean take a step forward—

—right into an impressive upper cut that hits him on his jaw and whips his head to the side. It happens so fast and there is such force behind the punch that it knocks him off his feet and he crumbles to the ground with a shocked grunt.

"What the—"

A pained groan from above cuts him off and Dean blinks up in time to see his brother topple off the bed and crash down to the floor next to him.

There is a moment of stunned silence and nobody moves, then Nox' face peers down at them over the corner of the bed while Sam chokes out a strained wheezing sound before he curls around his middle, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. Dean is too dazed to react at all and even Bobby seems unsure of what to do for a moment, but then Sam moves his head and Dean is suddenly faced with his brother's pained eyes.

"You left me behind, you son of a bitch," Sam huffs breathlessly, but his voice is still strong enough to carry enough accusation and hurt to stop whatever angry words want to break out of Dean.

"I thought you were dead, I thought they put a bullet through your brain for helping us, _helping_ _psychics_, Dean!"

His voice rises slightly and there is more, Dean can see that his brother isn't finished by far, but Sam is running out of air and suddenly he is choking for breath, head falling to the floor as he curls in on himself and starts panting.

"Goddammit…"

The breathless, but still heartfelt curse finally breaks the spell of the moment and suddenly there is movement around them; Nox appears next to Dean, kneels beside Sam and puts his hand on the young man's heaving back. The Scot grumbles something under his breath and shoots an annoyed glare at Dean, then closes his eyes in concentration. Then Bobby is there and Dean flinches slightly when his good arm is pulled over the other hunter's shoulder and he is dragged to his feet.

"Give 'em some room…"

As soon as he is upright the room tilts sideways and he thinks that maybe he blacks out for a moment because when Bobby's head is no longer a dark shape obscuring one half of his vision he finds himself sitting down on the chair next to the bed.

"He okay?"

Bobby is already moving back to where Nox and Yanni are kneeling next to Sam and Dean manages to focus on the healer in time to see him nod slightly.

"As long as he disna move he'll be fine." Nox moves his hands and squeezes Sam's shoulder. "Pretty dumb move, mate, almost cracked yer ribs for good this time."

Sam slowly relaxes beneath him, no longer panting or wheezing in air, and after a moment he forces his eyes open, blinking a few times before looking up at Dean, a familiar stubborn glint flashing through the tired gaze, followed by something else.

"Was still worth it…"

It's an apology, Winchester style, asking if the other is okay without actually saying the words. The appropriate answer is a glare followed by a frequently used brotherly insult. It takes Dean a moment to come up with the right words.

"We're good now, jackass?"

Sam is still scowling at him from his position on the floor and although the punch is no longer an issue between them Dean knows his brother is still pissed as hell at him for leaving him behind. And, knowing him, they will talk about it at some point in the near future, but this is neither the time nor the place, much less the audience to do it. Sam seems to agree with him and he nods slowly.

"Yeah, we're good."

"You idjits finished now?"

Bobby's growl finally puts an end to it and Dean watches how he and Yanni slowly get his brother up from the floor and back on the bed. Nox' magic seems to help a lot and still Dean sees all too clearly how Sam sways between them and squeezes his eyes shut, throat working as he obviously fights against the vertigo. They steady him until he is able to open his eyes again and Sam gives Bobby an apologetic grin.

"Sorry."

Bobby waves him off, picks up one of the bandages and goes to work on the dressings around Sam's chest that have come loose after his spectacular dive to the floor. Sam's eyes find Dean's and they stare at each other, then Sam looks down at Bobby.

"So, about those _scavengers_ you were talking about… what are they?"

Bobby grumbles something under his breath, then straightens a little. "Demons. Small groups of demons who search the city for psychics."

"Nasty sons of bitches, always show up where ye don't want 'em to be," Nox growls from behind Sam's back and his hands tighten on his charge's neck for a moment. He follows his words with what sounds like a Scottish curse which no one of them understands, then grins at Bobby. "Go on."

"Most of the times there are groups of four or five and some of them have what we call a tracker." Bobby stops for a moment, looks up at Sam, expression serious. "Vampires."

Sam blinks. "Vampires? Working together with _demons_?"

He sounds incredulous and Dean can relate, he couldn't believe it either when he first heard about it.

Bobby nods. "We don't know what exactly they get out of the deal but the demons use them to hunt down psychics. Once they get your smell vampires will always be able to find you if you don't cover your tracks—"

Yanni makes a soft noise at that point and Bobby breaks off, turns to the youth next to him and reaches up to squeeze his neck softly. "You're safe now, they won't find you here, kid…"

His voice is soft in a way Dean has only heard him use if he talks the boy out of one of his panic attacks and when he looks over at the teen he finds him trembling slightly under Bobby's touch.

Considering what Bobby told him about how they had found the kid a few weeks before Dean had showed up he can't blame him. The older hunter had not given him many details about that incident but what he did tell him had been enough. When they had found him it was only Nox' magic that had kept him barely alive for over two days, the teen had almost bled dry from the dozens of bite-wounds they had found on him.

Yanni relaxes under Bobby's touch and smiles shyly at him, then squares his shoulders as if to brush off the memories.

"That certainly explains the smell…" Sam's voice is soft and Bobby looks back at him, eyebrows raised in question.

"What smell?"

Sam manages a small grin. "This house doesn't exactly smell like roses, you know?"

He is right, Dean is so used to the smell that he doesn't realize it most of the times. It stinks.

Yanni chuckles softly and Bobby snorts at that, nodding at him. "We use different incenses to keep them off our trail and the most powerful ones usually don't smell that good. Beats being dead, though."

There is a short silence, then Sam starts shifting nervously on the bed, looking anywhere but at Bobby.

"You found out what they want the psychics for?"

Sam sounds anxious, almost afraid, and Dean wishes for a moment they could spare him the truth, his brother has been through enough already, he really doesn't need another thing to worry about.

Bobby seems to agree, he flashes Dean a look that tells him the older hunter would rather not talk about it but they don't have this luxury anymore, Sam _needs_ to know.

"They need their powers, some of them are strong enough to control psychics, not by possessing them but by mind-controlling them. I don't know how they do it, I've never seen it myself, but from what I've heard they make them do whatever they want. The strongest I've heard of are capable of controlling four or five psychics at once which makes them extremely dangerous."

"Episode I."

Nox sounds thoughtful and doesn't elaborate, seems to concentrate on healing. He gets that way sometimes, throwing bits and pieces of his thoughts into a conversation without telling them what they mean, as if he isn't really aware he is thinking out loud. Which, considering his usually rather scatterbrained nature, may be entirely true and most of the time they simply ignore him. Sam is not used to it yet and he shifts slightly, tries to look behind him.

"What?"

Nox blinks and meets his gaze, then grins. "Just like in Episode I, ye ken? The commando ships that were controlling the androids on the planets, destroy them and yer androids are no longer under control." His grin gets even wider, more cheerful. "We're all just some mindless androids tae them, that's kind of funny!"

Dean fails to see the joke in his words and judging by the confused frown Bobby doesn't see it either. Yanni is the only one who chuckles softly and makes a quick, one-handed sign near Sam's shoulder. It's too fast for Dean to read but the Scot seems to catch it and throws a mock glare at the kid.

"Watch yer mouth, laddie!"

"Anyway," Bobby goes on, ignoring the two of them, "we have some people out there to keep in touch with the locals and if what they heard is true then there's a troop heading our way, we don't know if they know we're here, or even if it is true, but we didn't make it so far by ignoring rumors."

Sam nods slightly, looks around the room. "So this here… this house, you… it's like a sanctuary? For psychics?"

Bobby huffs softly, finishing the bandages. "Yeah, you could say that, we help them get out of the city so the demons won't find them."

"Then why don't you leave, An—Nox?"

There is a moment of silence, then the Scot answers in a soft voice, "Figured I had some debt tae repay, Bobby saved my ass, if it wasn't for him I'd be part of the Empire by now, healers are wanted personnel, ye ken?" He chuckles softly. "Sometimes it just sucks to be one with the Force, gets you into more trouble than it's worth…"

Bobby grins at him over Sam's shoulder. "Don't talk like that, you're one of the few reasons we're still here."

Nox rolls his eyes at that, but Dean sees the smile he tries to hide.

"So who's _we_?" Sam asks after a moment, looking over at Dean. "You're a part of this?"

Dean feels his lips turn into a teasing smile.

"Couldn't leave the old man on his own now, could I? You know most of them, Bobby, Yanni, Nox, me. Then there's Maro, he's always out on the streets keeping his ears open and getting information with his overdeveloped people-skills."

Sam raises an eyebrow when everybody but him snorts in amusement. Dean grins at him.

"He's kind of like you but without the puppy dog eyes and the emo crap. You'll know when you meet him."

"That's it? Five against the rest of them? Against billions?" Sam seems so surprised by it that Dean cannot help but grin at him.

"Come on, Sammy, before that it was the two of us against the rest of the world, I'd say we're getting better."

Sam looks over at him and there's something weird in his eyes for a moment, but then it's gone and he grins slightly.

"Guess you're right about that... So where are we going? You got another safe-house?"

Bobby helps Sam shrug into an almost clean shirt before they get him to lay back down on the mattress. It's obvious that dressing his ribs, even with the help of Nox, took a lot out of him and Dean can see his eyes slowly flutter closed.

"We have to leave in about half an hour, don't get too comfortable," Bobby tells him and Sam nods in response, though Dean isn't sure he really understands him, he seems on the verge of nodding off.

And once again Dean can't help but think how much this _sucks_; Sam should not be moving so soon, he should be resting for at least a week so his ribs can heal. But they don't have time for that; if they stay in this place they're dead, it's as simple as that.

They leave the room quietly and while Bobby and the boys go through the empty rooms to make sure they won't forget anything, Dean stays in the open door to Sam's room, watching his sleeping brother thoughtfully.

They are not out of the woods, yet, they will probably never be really safe again. This world, this _city_ is no place for a psychic, hell, it's not a place for any human, they are nothing more than possible meat-suits for the demons. And Sam and all the other psychics with their goddamned powers… they will be forever hunted and always just one step away from being taken over and used, but still…

Dean feels happy, right now, he feels stronger than he's felt in months. This is where he wants to be, this is where he belongs, no matter what their future might bring. The Winchester brothers are back together again and that's all that counts, that's what his life will always be about.

And crazy as it might be, he's okay with that.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, I know, not a nice place to end this. But it is done, it was always supposed to end here. I do have one or two ideas for other scenes in this setting, but it's highly unlikely that I will come back to this story. Still, it was fun while it lasted and this is officially the first multi-chaptered story I've ever written _and _completed and I'm a little proud of that.

Dedicated to **kochan**, may the force be with you! ;)


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